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Tim Agne is a stay-at-home dad, trophy husband, writer and sometimes teacher in Phoenix, Arzona. He used to be an online producer for daily newspapers, where he played videogame critic, movie podcaster, energy-drink reviewer, social-media expert. Currently he is clean-shaven. Read more »

Super Bowl 50 and the death of Dadvertising

WANTED: The arms, torso and tail of a spider monkey. I have access to working baby legs, and I know a guy who has a pug. Attack of the Dad is making Puppy Monkey Baby happen IRL.

Why, you ask? I’m hot on social media thanks to brands (Taco Bell quote-tweeted my Instagram). I want to keep this rolling, and being a regular dad just isn’t cutting it.

A year ago, the ads in Super Bowl XLIX were all about dads. Always had an empowering message about how to raise our girls. Dove told us that a well-moisturized man is better at kissing his kids. Nissan had an inscrutable short film about a race-car driver, but Toyota really tugged at our dadstrings.

That day, all the moms and their Chunky Soups fell silent as “Dadvertising” reigned supreme.

So what did the dads get this year? You know, besides a bunch of good food, beer and a whole evening of watching football?

Well, a hapless dad-to-be induced a premature birth by eating Doritos during his baby mama’s ultrasound. Sure it’s funny, but I don’t like being reminded of all those times I had to stand there in an OB’s office with nothing to eat.

Anyway, the Doritos Ultrasound isn’t Dadvertising. It doesn’t pound its fist on the feels button of fatherhood. Kevin Hart comes a little closer in his fan-favorite Hyundai ad, “First Date.”

I’m not a monster. I like this commercial. But now I’m gonna get nitpicky.

Modern dads need to get over the idea that we need to scare boys away from our daughters. We’ll do better if we empower them to make good decisions, trust them to be on their own and provide emotional support when they need it. And we have to do this despite technology that makes it easier and easier for us to go all Big Brother creepy.

Of course, there’s another option. You could graft your daughter’s lower half to a monkey body with a dog’s head and let it lick you while you play videogames. I did well enough in high-school biology that I’m pretty confident in my DIY mad science skills.

Because now that my parenting has gone from pedestal to punchline on pop culture’s biggest stage, my only choice is to get a new gimmick. I need an energy drink sponsor, and Monster keeps ignoring my tweets.